


The Breaking Point

by Elowen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Dirty Talk, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Frottage, In Public, clothed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:30:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elowen/pseuds/Elowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor doesn't mind being the Herald of Andraste, but she does mind men constantly treating her as a political and religious figurehead rather than the woman she is. After receiving yet another passionless, political proposal of marriage, the Inquisitor ends up drunk and frustrated at Skyhold tavern. There she finds an equally-drunk Cullen, and with a little persuasion (and inhibition brought on by having had one too many) Cullen is finally willing to tell her exactly how much he desires her.</p><p>Originally written for the Dragon Age kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Breaking Point

Cullen sighed and threw back the last of his ale, the tankard nearly slipping out of his hand as he returned it to the table. He screwed his eyes shut and blinked a few times, chasing away the hazy edges of his vision. He was sober enough to know he probably ought to stop, but drunk enough to not care. Experience told him he'd probably regret the next ale or two or three, but after a full week of dealing with a batch of new recruits who probably couldn't tell a demon from a nug—and if they could, certainly wouldn't have the skill to so much as poke it with a pointy stick—he wanted the mind-numbing comfort of a misguided amount of alcohol. Pushing his chair back, he stood to motion the barkeep, and felt his back collide with a solid mass. He turned just in time to see the Inquisitor stumble backward, sloshing ale down her arm and over the floor.

"Maker's breath, Inquisitor!" He stammered. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know you were there or I never would have..."

She waved her hand dismissively, then shook her arm, sending a few beads of ale flying. "Not a problem. I fully intended to leave this tavern tonight positively reeking of alcohol. You've just given me a head start."

"Nevertheless, Inquisitor, you must allow me to—"

"Oh? What must I allow you to do?" Evelyn cut him off and raised an eyebrow before dropping herself rather unceremoniously into the chair next to him. 

Cullen looked down at her, momentarily taken aback. His expression seemed to make her regret her archness and she motioned for him to sit down. "I'm sorry, Cullen. I've just had the most interminably long day, but I shouldn't take it out on you."

Cullen sat back down, smiling lightly. "If you want to talk about it, I'm a willing ear, Inquisitor. Anything you need."

She muttered something unintelligible and downed half of what was left in her tankard. "You can start by not calling me that."

"What?"

"Inquisitor." She glanced at him and swallowed most of the rest of her ale. "I wouldn't mind it—I _don't_ mind it—except it's all I hear. All day, every day. And it's not…" She trailed off, thanked the barkeep as two more tankards arrived in front of them. "I bet you don't even know my first name."

"Of course I do, Inquis—" Cullen caught himself and swallowed the rest of the word, but he didn't call her Evelyn, either. He wasn't sure he could, not without saying it in a way so laced with meaning she would see right through him. _Evelyn_ , beautiful, wild, ravishing Evelyn. He respected the Inquisitor and all that the title stood for, but he wanted to possess Evelyn.

"See?" She said, and lifted her tankard as punctuation. "It just… makes it so hard to be anything but the Inquisitor." 

Somehow, half of her drink was already gone when he looked back her. She was gazing at it, tracing the rim of the tankard with her finger.

She didn't say anything for a minute, then, “One of Josie's diplomatic guests proposed to me today.”

He shouldn't be surprised; the Inquisitor was a match any powerful man would be happy to make. She had probably received many such proposals via letter, but something about knowing that earlier that very day another man had taken her hand, perhaps kissed it, and asked for the honor of marrying Evelyn made his stomach twist into an uncomfortable knot. When he didn't speak, she continued.

“He was so...” She made a sour face and shook her head. “He proposed by enumerating all the reasons such a union would be mutually beneficial. Politically. Financially. I stopped paying attention at some point. It was a very long list. He doesn't want me, of course, he wants _The Inquisitor_. And then he tried to kiss me and, oh, Maker, Cullen, he smelled like stewed beets and old cheese and his hands were so sweaty. It was revolting.”

The tension in his body released all at once, bubbling up as a laugh. She shot him a dark look and he tried to train his expression into something more sympathetic. “I'm sorry, that does sound awful.”

A smile cracked her stern expression and she laughed, too. “You're right. It would be funny if it weren't happening to me.” Her smile faded almost as quickly as it had come. “Is this all I can expect now, though? A long line of unctuous, smelly nobles who want to marry a title? It almost makes a vow of celibacy seem appealing. Maker, I never thought I'd miss the romantic opportunities of the Circle.”

She finished her drink in mere seconds and ordered another. Apparently, the Inquisitor could drink when she felt duly motivated. Cullen took that as a cue to work on his own drink.

“At least in the Circle, men treated me like a woman. Desired me as a woman. No man wants to fuck the Inquisitor, or Maker forfend, the _Herald of Andraste_.”

Cullen nearly choked on his ale. Hearing the words _fuck the Inquisitor_ in Evelyn's sweet voice was so unexpected, so seemingly out of place that it sent a jolt of arousal directly to his groin. He felt his cock twitch and had an irrational fear that she knew exactly what effect she was having.

“Or if they do,” she continued, apparently oblivious, “they certainly aren't forthright about it. They're all too eager to be respectful. And I appreciate that, really, but it's so frustrating to be untouchable all the time. Now every man around me is so deferential all I hear are polite 'Inquisitor's and all I get is careful distance.”

Another round arrived and Evelyn set to work on it. Cullen was feeling every drop of what he'd already consumed and eyed the drink warily. At this rate, Evelyn would be every bit as inebriated as he was becoming, and with where she had steered the conversation that seemed... dangerous. When it came to her, his resolve was a carefully cultivated thing. Under normal circumstances he maintained it quite well, shoving down whatever inappropriate things he felt for the Inquisitor under the mask and mantle of Commander of the Inquisition, loyal servant of the Herald. But if she kept talking that way, kept forcing him to think about the woman under that title, he was bound to say something he'd regret tomorrow even more sorely than the pounding headache he was sure to have.

“I don't think there's a man left in Thedas who'd be willing to hold me down, pin me to a bed, and make me scream.”

Cullen did choke this time, coughing as he pulled the tankard away from his mouth and wiping ale from his face with the back of his hand. _No chance she didn't catch that,_ he thought, and winced inwardly. He stared at his drink, pointedly avoiding the gaze she'd turned on him. In his peripheral vision, her features were soft but he could see the inviting green of her eyes beneath heavy lashes.

“My first lover was a Templar,” she said casually after long moments, as if it were just some uninteresting smalltalk. “Well, trainee Templar. We were old enough to want it and young enough not to know better. Not that I regret it, though. Took me weeks of working on him before he finally found me in a dark corner of the library and took me right there against the stacks.”

“Maker's breath,” Cullen breathed. His thoughts were fuzzy and he could no longer discern between the effects of alcohol and pure lust. It was all coursing through his blood now, heady and loud and making him hunger for her. Making him think it would be a good idea to do something about it. “I—I should go. Apologies, Inquisitor, but I think I've had too much.” He drew in a deep breath. “To drink, that is. Too much... ale.”

She made a noise of assent. “I'm afraid I may have, as well,” she said, but still tipped back the last of her ale. “Would you walk me back to the tower?” She asked as she moved to stand.

“Certainly,” he replied. He stood, testing his weight on only slightly shaky legs. He was drunk, but not so unstable that he would make a fool of himself on the short walk back. Probably. 

Evelyn led the way, returning to the back of the tavern to press a few coins into the barkeep's hand then weaving back through the mess of chairs and other patrons. She seemed about as stable as he felt, though he did spot her bracing herself the back of a chair once. Then, crossing the threshold, she stumbled, pitching forward into the yard with an inelegant lurch. He was close enough to catch her, arm shooting out almost on instinct to grip hers firmly as he followed her a step outside. She drew closer as she righted herself, turning herself against him and grasping his arm for stability.

She was so close now he could smell her skin, hear her breath in his ear even over the background din of the tavern. She must have been handling potions earlier; the sweet fragrance of embrium mingled with the sharpness of ale and worn leather and made him want to draw her fingers into his mouth to taste them. She turned her face up to look at him. He shouldn't look down at her, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. In the dim light, her eyes were dark and unreadable, but her lips parted with a soft breath and _Maker_ , he could just kiss her, just once, and it would be worth all the apologies and excuses that would have to follow.

And so he did, dipping his head far enough to meet her lips. She responded instantly, arching her back and pressing upward, eager. Her tongue traced along his lower lip then darted into his mouth, stroking against his tongue until a moan caught in his throat. He moved his free hand up her back, her neck, until his fingers tangled in her hair and he could pull her closer. She kept kissing him, harder now, working her mouth over his in a way so bewitching his cock was already hard and pressed against the front of his trousers.

Then from behind him, somewhere inside the tavern, he heard a loud hoot, followed by a peel of laughter he distinctly recognized as Sera's. “Attaboy, Cully Wully! 'Bout time you got some. Maybe loosening your britches tonight will help you loosen up!”

Cullen jerked back, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was kissing the Inquisitor in the doorway of Skyhold's tavern, for the whole world to see. Evelyn's grip on his arm tightened.

“Don't stop,” she said softly, nearly imploring. 

And that was all it took. The last of his resistance, the last of his worry about decorum and chain of command and propriety that hadn't been chipped away by the ale, shattered spectacularly with two simple words. He used his bulk to turn her out of the doorway, forcing her back against the outside wall of the tavern, his hand still braced on the back of her head to keep it from colliding with stone. She yelped at the unexpected force and movement and laced her arms around his chest. He pressed against her, one leg sliding between hers, and kissed her again with no thoughts of tenderness.

“Evelyn,” he whispered against her ear and was rewarded with hummed note of pleasure. “Evelyn,” he repeated before pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. “Do you know how long I've wanted this? Wanted you?”

“Cullen,” was all she said, forced out on an exhale as if it were all she could manage.

It was all the encouragement he needed. He kept his mouth close to her ear, speaking barely above a whisper. “You can't imagine how often I think about you.” 

She shifted against him, but the movement didn't stop; heat flared in his aching cock when he realized she was grinding against his thigh. 

“Or how inappropriate those thoughts are,” he added. He pressed one more kiss just below her ear. “Every time you show up in my office I can't help but picture bending you over my desk. It drives me to distraction.” 

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Maybe I bolt the door. Maybe I don't.”

She was rocking against him in earnest now. His cock pressed against her body through too many layers of clothing, her movement causing just enough friction to be almost agonizing. The frustrating, throbbing need to be inside her and the rush of articulating fantasies he'd barely admitted even to himself spurred him on.

“If someone walked in, it would serve you right for doing this to me. Making me feel this way, needing you so badly I can't even hold back long enough to take you to bed properly.”

He heard his name, low and breathy, as her hand pulled on his lower back, desperate for leverage.

“I would bury myself so deep in you, Evelyn. And you would take all of me. I would fuck you as you clung to my desk and begged for more.” He tilted his face toward the crook of her neck, his lips barely touching her heated skin.

She was almost panting, breath racing with a speed that matched her frantic grinding on his leg. He felt another surge of want knowing she was close to her own release while his cock still strained against the confines of his trousers.

“When I thought you couldn't take it any more, I would finally touch you in that spot that aches for it. And you'd be so ready and desperate for it that you wouldn't last another minute. I would make you come so hard you forget your own name, but you'd be screaming mine.”

“Maker, yes, Cullen,” she said, tripping over the words. She came with a muffled cry, burying her face in his shoulder. Her hips faltered in their pace, jerking and coming to a stop as she went limp against him.

With one hand, he petted her hair and coaxed her to pull her head away from his shoulder. She obliged and he kissed her, softer this time despite the fact that he still yearned for his own release. Something between them had shifted, he thought, and that hope assuaged some of the urgency he felt. He couldn't even remember now why he'd ever thought something so perfect was ill-advised.

He sighed and held her. “Anything you need, anything you want from me, I'd give you a thousand times over,” he murmured.

Evelyn felt spent in his arms, but sated, and she kissed him again with a pleasant tiredness.

“Come on, I'll walk you back to the tower,” he said, easing her back fully onto her own feet and pulling away. He risked taking her hand and felt a satisfying warmth when she curled her fingers around his tightly.

It was a short walk but he savored it and their companionable silence. As they reached the door he turned to face her. “So, Inquisitor,” he began, forcing a light, steady tone into his voice. His heart was racing but he had to ask, had to let her know what he wanted. “Should I expect you in my office tomorrow?”

She tilted her head, and for one hopeful moment Cullen thought she might kiss him again, but instead she just smiled. “Yes, I do believe we have some important business to attend to. Could you make some time for me in the afternoon?”

“Certainly, Inquisitor. I look forward to it.” He knew he was probably blushing furiously, flushed red with drink and arousal, but he was long past the point of caring.

“Until tomorrow then, Commander.” 

“Until tomorrow,” he repeated, and watched as she turned and disappeared into the dark hall.


End file.
